


Body Unbroken

by Stark_Black



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, M/M, possibly?, semi okay ending?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stark_Black/pseuds/Stark_Black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pitch has Jack prisoner and plans to use the Guardian's fear to restore his nightmare powers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Body Unbroken

**Author's Note:**

> For moviesatminight212 on Tumblr. Thank you so much for your donation!

Pale skin rubbed red under strips of rough leather. Tiny droplets of sweat beaded on pale skin. Silver hair hung heavy and limp into ice-blue eyes.

Pitch brought his hands together, steepling his long fingers. He stood quiet and still, save for the minor movement of his arms, and watched the figure before him tug at his bindings and stare heatedly in his direction. The boy was more beautiful than he had anticipated. His body was toxic; his eyes were devastating. 

As his gaze slid from hair to cheek, from jaw to chest, from chest, to stomach, to slender legs and then back again, Pitch found himself wishing he had more time. If only he could take this creature underground and hide him away. If only he could take him and keep him where the other Guardians would never find him, he would do it. He would do it in a heartbeat. 

But no, Pitch had a purpose. He had a plan and he was not going to let himself be swept away by flights of fancy or precarious desires that could potentially ruin him. If it was possible to be worse off than he already was of course. 

“So,” he said quietly, “Are we having _fun_ yet, Jack?”

Jack continued to scowl at him from underneath silver eyelashes. His face was bruised, his lip torn and bleeding. When he spoke it was a dry, crackling sound.

“Loads.”

Pitch liked Jack this way, very much. He liked this stubbornness, this fight, no doubt because it was futile. Nothing was more attractive than a strong soul and a strong heart on the brink of falling apart. Just on the verge of breaking.

Taking careful, slow steps, Pitch moved closer. Excitement tugged at his gut when he saw Jack pull at his binds once again. There was fear in the guardian’s eyes. Pitch could _taste_ it. It was right there, right in front of him. It was out of reach for now, but not for long. The Nightmare King would have that fear, and it would make him strong once again.

He reached out and ran his fingers over Jack’s bare chest. The supple muscle trembled underneath his touch. He was pleased to see the breath passing between clenched teeth was growing quicker, harsher.

“You were expecting to be saved by now, weren’t you?” Pitch smiled.

Jack scoffed and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Saved? From what?”

Pitch could barely contain the laugh that rolled up from his belly. It spilled over his lips as he lifted his hands to push the robe from his shoulders. When it fell to the floor he stood naked beside the bed, staring down at the beautiful body now gone ridged. 

“You are very brave, Jack,” he murmured, “But your fear betrays you. That fear is what’s going to bring me back. Bring me back to my former glory.”

As he climbed up and crawled over Jack’s body, the boy began to struggle. This was a victory, a small one, but a victory nonetheless. As he positioned himself between long, pale legs, Pitch lowered his head and ran his tongue over a small, pink nipple.

Jack hissed. “I’ll kill you.”

“Oh?” Pitch whispered, taking the nipple between his teeth.

“Y-yes… I’ll tear you to pieces…” the guardian’s voice faltered, “…if you keep…”

Pitch dragged his hands down and over the muscles of Jack’s ribcage. Paper thin lines of crimson followed his sharp fingernails and he caught a small droplet with his bottom lip. Jack arched, almost like a lover, but made a noise that was exquisite only to Pitch’s ears. 

Lifting his head, the Nightmare King brought his face close to Jack’s and breathed across the young guardian’s mouth. He was trembling, shaking as he pulled at the cords that bound him. His flesh was raw and bleeding now. A trail of red, bright and beautiful against his pale skin, ran from his wrist to his elbow. 

Smiling, baring his teeth, Pitch slid his hand down past a smooth stomach and teased the silver hair between Jack’s thighs. 

Jack whimpered and tried to twist himself away. “S-stop…”

Pitch felt his pulse rising, his black heart pumped furiously in his chest as he watched this beautiful, untamed spirit slowly coming undone. He was slowly breaking and all it had taken was a few simple touches from Pitch’s deft fingers.

He lowered his hand and slid a palm over Jack’s wilted sex. The boy was probably impressive when properly simulated, but that was not something Pitch was after in this moment. Right now he wanted this guardian to suffer, to bleed, to be _terrified_. 

Reaching lower, Pitch stretched out a finger and ran a soft touch over the smooth, intimate flesh. Jack gasped and Pitch looked up in time to see a small trickle of tears escape the from beneath the boy’s closed eyes. 

“Please…” Jack whispered, “Please stop…”

Excellent.

Pitch moved, pressed himself down in between Jack’s thighs and lowered his head once again. He flicked out his tongue and lapped up the wetness on Jack’s face. It tasted like snow and ice; cold winter air and chilled, cherry-red skin.

How was his blood so hot and his tears so cold?

He reached down, put his hand around his length and stroked himself. He was hot and hard, ready to take what he wanted. Ready to get back what he so rightfully deserved, what this guardian had taken away from him.

Oil from a bottle waited for him by the bedside, and Jacks’ legs spread apart easily. When he pushed into that warm body it was tight and unwelcoming, but Jack’s cry of pain was enough to make Pitch shudder with pleasure. As he started to move, to slide in and out of an almost excruciating heat, Pitch lowered his head once again and murmured into soft, silver hair.

“You will give me back what you have taken.”

Jack’s eyes were shut tight and he turned away, but Pitch continued, growled into his neck.

“You will fear me. You will fear the very thought of me. You will look over your shoulder in the night and you will see me when I am not even there.”

Pitch’s movements sped up. Jack’s arms pulled at the binds and he twisted half-heartedly beneath him. He was still turned away, still had his eyes closed. Pitch felt another intense throb of pleasure at seeing the guardian so broken. He felt the pressure of release coming quickly, the heady feeling of orgasm crept up on him and inside him as he plundered Jack’s body fast and harder.

He took Jack’s jaw in his hand and snarled into the boy’s ear.

“You will think of me every second. I’m more than inside your body, I am in your head. You will never be rid of me.”

Pleasure clouded his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut and let himself be swept away, lost in the feeling of Jack’s body and Jack’s breath, the hotness of his skin, and his cold, cold tears.

“You will never be rid of me. Ah… you will see me, Jack… you will _see me_ …”

He came so violently he almost couldn’t control himself. He did not know if he cried out or if he was silent as release overtook him. Pleasure bled from every pore, spread to every limb. He emptied himself into Jack with not a thought or care about anything but how perfect it was. How beautiful his capture of this body and this spirit was.

He was still for what could have been minutes, or merely a few seconds before a hand threaded into his hair. He let it linger, enjoying the sensation of someone else’s fingers giving comfort, a gentle touch from gentle…

Pitch’s eyes snapped open. His hand flew up to grip a bloody wrist. Jack was looking up at him with wide, expectant eyes. When Pitch glanced at the leather bind, all that remained was a pile of broken ice. Jack had escaped and was running his fingers through Pitch’s hair! Why?

Shock blew through Pitch as Jack’s other hand came to his face and wiped away the tears he did not know had fallen. Pitch had thought he was no longer capable of tears.

The guardian’s ice-blue eyes were sad as he whispered, “Is that all you want? To be seen?”

It was too much. Pitch couldn’t lie there looking into that pitying face and those loving and forgiving eyes a moment longer. He pushed himself off of Jack and flew off the bed. He grabbed his robe from the floor and hurried out of the room. Jack could free himself, he would be fine. He would go back to the guardians and tell them that he had defeated Pitch once again.

Hate and shame and loneliness washed over the Nightmare King as he floated through the halls of his underground lair. How could that even be possible? He had hurt Jack, he had _raped_ him, and the boy still had it in him to forgive. He still found it within himself to touch his face and pity whatever he had seen.

How was that possible?

A cool breeze tickled the back of Pitch’s neck and he turned slowly. Jack was clothed once again and crouched on his staff in the junction of tunnels mere feet from where Pitch was standing. His face was still bruised, his lip still bloody. He tilted his head and his silver hair fell across his eyes in a way that Pitch realized he loved. Another powerful wave of shame washed over him and he turned away.

“Leave me.”

“I think you owe me,” Jack replied.

“I think we are even.”

There was a moment of taut silence before Pitch heard Jack’s feet touch the ground. He heard the tap of the staff and a soft sigh from the young guardian.

“Yeah, maybe…”

Pitch pulled his robe tighter around himself and he started to move, desperate to escape that spirit, that body, _those eyes_.

But Jack spoke before he could get away.

“Hey,” the guardian said softly.

A moment passed, the Nightmare King’s heart raced. 

“What?”

He heard Jack adjust his stance and he tensed, not sure if the boy was ready to run or to fight.

“I see you, Pitch.”

Gasping, knees going week, Pitch swallowed past a lump in his throat. He whirled around, unsure of what to say or what to think or even feel, but he found himself facing an empty corridor. 

Jack was gone.

All that was left was a memory and a small flurry of snowflakes.

END


End file.
